Ache
by catharticone
Summary: Post "Father's Day" with a slightly different twist...
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer:__ Doctor Who_ is the property of the BBC and no infringement is intended. Thanks, as always, to Sonic Jules, whose encouragement and support keep me writing.

* * *

He kept her hand in his until they entered the ship, then he pulled her into an embrace. Rose knew he was expecting her to cry, but she'd been weak before, and she would not give in to such a human failing now. Instead she wrapped her arms around him and pressed her cheek against the cool leather of his jacket. She felt his hand come to rest over her head. He was waiting for the eruption, the inevitable storm of emotions.

The tempest did not come. She felt tears start to well, and her throat tightened with the beginnings of a sob. But she suppressed it, drew a deep breath or two, blinked hard three times, then lifted her head to offer him a smile.

"You all right?" the Doctor asked. His brow was taut.

"Yeah, fine."

He seemed almost relieved, and Rose was glad she hadn't given in to the tears. He nodded then shambled up the ramp.

"I think I know just what you need," he said, his tone lighter now.

"Yeah? An' what's that?"

He grinned at her, clearly immensely pleased with himself. "Chips! Best in the universe, I promise."

They'd strolled the boardwalk and eaten two helpings of the crispy, hot chips. The beach was nearly deserted in the cool, late-autumn evening, but Rose didn't mind. When the Doctor sauntered off to fetch more of the tangy sauce, she stood looking out over the grey sea, realizing that she wanted to be alone.

When he returned, sauce in hand, she smiled thinly but let him have the remainder of the chips.

"Was I right?" he was asking with egregious enthusiasm. "Aren't these the best? The secret's in the frying. They fry 'em twice, at just the right temperature an' with just the right amount of moisture, an' it gives 'em this amazin' crispiness."

Rose nodded half-heartedly, wanting to share his zeal but not quite possessing the energy to do so. "Yeah, they're really good."

"Understatement if I ever heard one. Now what d'you say to a nice Abbey ale? Flavour's different than anything else you've had because they allow the local yeasts to enter the vats an'—"

She tried to smile; she really did. But her efforts were wan. "Another time?" she replied.

"It's been a long day," he acknowledged. "C'mon." He tossed the last few chips into a bin and took her hand.

They walked together over the cool sand and back to the TARDIS, leaving Belgium behind.

She thought she'd finally cry once she was alone in her room. But Rose felt only a peculiar numbness in her chest and a dull ache behind her eyes. She waited for the tears, thinking of her father's face and his words, knowing that she'd been given a rare and priceless opportunity but wondering whether she'd rather it never happened at all. Remorse clenched at her, yet still she did not cry.

Finally she curled onto her side, hugging a pillow as she permitted her eyes to close. She slept fitfully, never quite slipping into deep slumber but unable to wake fully, either. When she finally opened her eyes and looked at her bedside clock, she found that it was morning, or the ship's equivalent thereof, and sat up slowly. Lethargy made her limbs heavy, and there was that tightness in her throat and chest, but tears did not follow.

* * *

When she shuffled out into the Console Room sometime later, she found the Doctor busy with an open panel on the wall.

"Mornin'," she greeted softly.

He looked over at her, his eyes bright and appraising. "Morning. How'd you sleep?"

She shrugged. She knew she couldn't hide the slight darkness and puffiness surrounding her eyes. "Okay, I s'pose."

He nodded. "You have any trouble sleeping, let me know an' I'll give you something."

"I'll be all right."

He stepped away from the panel and came to rest his hands upon her shoulders. "I know you will. But sometimes… well, it takes a little time."

"Yeah. So, where're we off to today?"

"First stop, the kitchen to get some food into you. After that, reckon we'll see what strikes our fancy."

"You cookin'?"

"Yep."

"Got anything for indigestion?" she teased.

"Oi! Just you wait, Rose Tyler. I'm gonna make you eat your words."

The way her stomach was feeling, she wasn't sure she could eat anything, but she followed him down the corridor and pasted a smile upon her face.

* * *

He took her to a planet with pink skies and huge, docile birds upon which they rode to soar through the clouds and dip over the lavender hillsides. It was thrilling and exhilarating, and for a little while Rose enjoyed it. By the end of the day, however, she found herself tired and wanting the solitude of her room once more. She'd felt an urge to cry repeatedly as they swept through the skies, but she'd suppressed it and focused upon the beauty before her instead, because the Doctor hadn't brought her here to mourn; he'd brought her to help her forget.

When they returned to the TARDIS, she sat with him before the console for some time, listening to stories about other giant creatures—grasshoppers, butterflies, squirrel-like things, and serpents—until she began to nod off.

"Rose," he said gently, wrapping a hand around her shoulder.

She looked up at him, blinking blearily. "Mmn?"

"Get to bed," he commanded kindly.

She nodded. "Yeah. 'Night."

As she stood he reached for her hand to stop her momentarily. "Remember, if you have any trouble fallin' asleep, come an' tell me."

"Okay." Of course she wouldn't; she wasn't that weak.

As she was preparing for bed, she felt the tears welling and the pressure in her chest. By the time she crawled beneath the duvet, she was ready for a good cry. Yet all she managed was a few dry, ragged sobs. Her fist curled around the sheet as her heart began to pound.

* * *

The next day saw the Doctor and Rose at a place resembling a ski resort. Snow covered the ground and tall, majestic mountains towered all around them. Their first stop had been for delicious hot chocolate, then he'd taken her to the kiosk to rent the strangely flexible, almost liquid ski-like things.

They'd glided over the slopes, and after a few minutes she'd had no fears of falling. The ski-thingies apparently melded to the snow somehow, encouraging fast, fluid movement with almost no risk of a tumble. Rose found herself laughing more than once, and the Doctor was clearly having a great deal of fun, too.

They were just whooshing back toward the kiosk when her foot somehow slipped out of the ski. Rose lost her balance, falling to her side on the thick, cold snow. She gave a little yelp.

The Doctor was kneeling beside her in an instant. "Rose! You all right?"

"Yeah, think so. My foot slipped."

He felt along her leg and foot quickly. "Nothing's broken. How's it feel?"

"'S all right," she replied. Honestly the ache in her chest was worse, and she realized that she was about to cry. But that wouldn't do; she couldn't break down in front of the Doctor.

He helped her to her feet, and she managed to swallow back to sob and blink away the tears. By the time they'd returned to the TARDIS, her body was aching dully and she felt quite chilled. She must've twisted something or fallen harder than she thought. Still, she knew she was fine—nothing a hot bath wouldn't fix. She could use a good night's sleep, too, but she had a feeling that would elude her again.

She bid the Time Lord good night and retreated to her room. She soaked in the tub for a little while, but once the water stopped steaming she began to shiver, and her position was making her lower back hurt, and damn, there was that sob pushing against her chest and throat again, and why the hell wouldn't it just come out?

Rose sank onto her bed and closed her dry eyes, wondering if she'd ever feel normal again.

* * *

_To be continued..._

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning Rose went directly to the kitchen to make coffee. She'd slept poorly again—no surprise, really—and needed the caffeine. She felt cold, too, as if snow still clung to her clothes; she welcomed the beverage's warmth. She was drinking her second cup when the Doctor joined her.

"Save some for me?" he asked.

She nodded. "Should be at least two cups left."

He poured one then sat down across from her. He regarded her with sharp eyes. "You look tired, Rose."

"Just need a bit more coffee."

"You've already had two cups. Didn't you sleep well?"

"Not too bad," she replied rather obliquely.

He set his cup on the table. "I thought you were gonna tell me if you couldn't sleep."

"I slept," she said then admitted, "just maybe not as much as I'd like."

"You need a good night's sleep, Rose—seven or eight solid hours. Let me give you something—"

"I'm fine. Really."

He eyed her dubiously but returned to his coffee without further discussion.

* * *

The Doctor had some maintenance to complete, so they spent the day on the ship. Rose didn't mine; she wasn't really in the mood for an adventure anyway. She tried to remain chipper, chatting with him as she handed him tools, but she could feel the unshed sobs that tightened her chest and burned behind her eyes.

When she dropped a laser spanner and it clattered noisily to the floor, she fell to her knees to reach for it, silently berating herself for the clumsiness. Tears prickled in her eyes, and her hand shook as she grasped the tool.

She looked up to find the Doctor watching her intently. "Rose? Something wrong?" he asked with obvious concern.

She shook her head. "No, jus' bein' stupid, I s'pose. Sorry, didn't mean to drop it—" A sob threatened to escape her. Of all the stupid, pointless things to cry about…

He scooted forward across the floor to sit before her, taking the implement from her trembling hand. "Hey," he said, "tell me what's goin' on."

"Nothin'."

"Nope, not buyin' that. There's obviously somethin' goin' on." His hand wrapped around hers. "Tell me, Rose."

She swallowed, her chest and throat constricting even more. "Really, it's nothin'. An' that's… that's the problem, yeah? Because I don't think I feel what I should, the sadness, the tears." She sniffed.

"You haven't cried?" he asked, his eyes widening slightly in surprise.

"No." She inhaled shakily, feeling every suppressed sob and tear clawing to escape. But she couldn't; she wouldn't do that in front of him.

He gathered her into his arms. "It's all right. You need to let it go."

"It hurts," she said, rubbing a hand over her chest.

"I know, and it will. But it'll get better once you let it out."

"Can't," she whispered huskily.

"Yes, you can."

His tone was so tender, and the hand that brushed over her hair so gentle, and she felt the poignancy like a knife twisting just beside her heart. Tears flooded her eyes, and the first rasping sob tore from her chest. And then the dam burst and Rose cried in the Doctor's arms for a long, long time.

He sat quietly, murmuring occasional soft words that she couldn't understand and realized she probably wasn't meant to. His large hand cradled her head, and his arm remained securely around her, and he didn't seem to mind the tears dripping down the leather of his damned beloved tatty old wonderful jacket.

Finally her sobs subsided to sniffles. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and held it to her nose. She blew, feeling like a small child but grateful for the gesture and the stoic look upon his face as he wiped the mess from her nose.

"Better?" he finally asked. He rested his hand against her damp cheek, his thumb brushing gently beneath her eye.

"Yeah," she croaked. She felt utterly drained, empty, yet somehow clean. And he hadn't chided her or thought less of her because of it.

But now he was frowning down at her with that look that meant he was dissatisfied or angry or upset. She should have kept her silly, stupid, useless human emotions to herself.

* * *

_To be continued…_


	3. Chapter 3

Rose began to scoot back from the Doctor instantly, dropping her gaze to the floor with a muttered, "'M sorry."

"For what?" he asked.

She gestured awkwardly toward her face with trembling hands. "This. I know it's stupid an' human an' weak—"

"What?"

"An' you shouldn't've had to see it," she continued, oblivious to his query. "I know you didn't want to, an' I get it, I get that you're disappointed, that you thought I'd be better than this—"

"C'mere," he said abruptly, moving forward to pull her into his arms again. "I don't know what the hell you're talkin' about. Must be the fever."

She blinked at him. "Huh?" was the best she could manage.

He pressed his palm to her cheek again. "You're runnin' a fever. Don't know how I didn't notice before, unless it came on suddenly."

Suddenly she understood why he'd frowned. It hadn't been displeasure with her; it had been concern.

"I'm sick?" she asked incredulously.

"Looks like. But luckily you've got your very own, very brilliant Doctor, and I'll have you put to rights before you know it." He hopped to his feet and held out his hand. "Come on, Rose Tyler, bed's the best place for you."

She stood on shaky legs and found that she had to lean against him for support as they walked to her room. Truth be told, she was a little dizzy. He eased her down onto the bed and handed her the nightshirt she'd tossed over the footboard that morning.

"Get changed, and I'll be back soon," he instructed benevolently.

Languorously Rose shed her clothes and slipped on the soft flannel nightshirt. She'd just settled back against the pillows when he returned bearing a large tray. She saw a teapot and cup but couldn't quite make out the other items. After setting his burden on her dresser, he sat down beside her.

He felt her forehead then took a few moments to scrutinize her, his gaze moving slowly over her with an intensity that made her wonder if he had a bit of x-ray vision in addition to being slightly psychic. He reached into his pocket to withdraw the sonic screwdriver then ran it over her carefully.

"Hmm. Heart rate and respiration are up a bit, and your lungs are a little congested," he reported. "You said your chest hurt?"

She nodded. "Thought it was just from, y'know, keepin' everything in."

He smiled sympathetically. "I'm sure that was part of it. But looks like there was a physical cause, too."

He placed one hand on her chest and the other against her back, closing his eyes in concentration as she inhaled and exhaled according to his instructions. After perhaps half a minute, he gave a nod then stood to retrieve a small device from the tray.

"This'll take and analyze a blood sample," he told her, pressing the instrument over her wrist.

Rose prepared for the sting of a needle, but she felt only a brief little thump, then the Doctor pulled the device away and studied the read-out. "Right, just as I thought. We've got some nasty streptococcus pneumoniae swooshin' about in your bloodstream."

"Pneumoniae?" she repeated. "Does that mean I've got pneumonia?"

"Yep." He smiled reassuringly. "But nothing to worry about; we've caught it early. It's just beginning. You must've been exposed a few days ago. I'll get you some beta-lactam antibiotics an' you'll be fine by tomorrow."

"'S that why I was feelin' so crappy?" she asked.

"Probably, at least in part. Don't know where you picked it up, though."

"Funny, that's what my mum still says when she tells me about the other time I had it."

He cocked an eyebrow. "Other time? When was that?"

"When I was a baby, just after…" She swallowed. "Just after we lost Dad."

He rolled his eyes. "You _really_ shouldn't have touched the baby."

"The baby?" It took a few seconds for her foggy brain to process the subtext of his words. But when she did, she shook her head. "No. No way."

"Yep."

"You're sayin' I gave myself pneumonia?"

"Yep."

Her head was beginning to spin. "So the _baby_ me gave it to _me_-me?"

He shrugged. "Could be. Or might be the other way round."

"Wait… I gave it to her because she gave it to me?"

"Causality when you travel in time's a hell of a thing, isn't it?" he grinned.

Rose pressed her hands over her face with a groan. She felt him touch her arm and looked up at him. He was holding a mug of tea.

"Here, Rose, drink this while I fetch your medicine."

She sipped the wonderfully warm, slightly sweet beverage. It seemed to alleviate the tightness in her chest just a bit, and by the time she'd finished, she felt very sleepy. She'd just set the mug on her night table when the Doctor returned.

He glanced at the empty mug. "Good girl."

"Tasted nice," she replied.

He handed her two shockingly yellow tablets. "These'll clear up the pneumonia in a few hours."

He poured a little more tea, and she swallowed the pills. Her eyelids were so heavy now; she hadn't felt such a strong urge to sleep in several days. Unbidden, her head dropped down to her chest.

She was vaguely aware of the Doctor's hands behind her head and shoulders as he eased her back to lie against the pillows. She thought she heard him say something about dreams, too, but it was all a soft blur as slumber claimed her fully.

* * *

Rose woke slowly. She was curled on her side, covers tucked up around her shoulders. She felt very relaxed, her limbs loose and languid amid the soft sheets. Gradually the gentle, pleasant haze of lingering slumber left her and she opened her eyes.

She'd just sat up to stretch when she heard a light tapping on her half-open door.

"Come in," she croaked, surprised by the scratchiness of her voice.

The Doctor stepped into the room, smiling as his gaze moved appraisingly over her. "You're lookin' better," he said.

She shook her head. "Must look a right mess," she countered good-naturedly. She pushed a few errant strands of hair back from her face.

"Nope." He was beside her now, lifting a hand to her brow. "Color's good, fever's gone, an' you've had a nice, long sleep—ten an' a half hours."

She waited for the inevitable comment about how human apes slept away their lives, but it didn't come. Instead, he said, "You needed it."

"S'pose I did," she conceded.

"So, feelin' better?"

"Much."

"Looks like you're just about well. But I'm gonna give you another dose of antibiotics, just in case, an' I think we'll take it easy today."

"You don't need t'do that on my account," she began.

He sat down on the mattress, placing his hand gently over hers. "Yeah, I think I do. You've had a rough couple a' days." There was no disapproval or judgment in his tone, only understanding and perhaps a hint of regret.

"How about we start with breakfast?" she suggested.

"You gonna make fun of my cookin' again?" he asked with a mock frown.

"Depends. You gonna make somethin' edible?" she replied teasingly.

"For you, Rose, my best toast and marmalade, an' I'll even throw in some scrambled eggs."

Her stomach rumbled agreeably. "Sounds perfect."

He stood. "Gimme ten minutes."

He was nearly to the door when Rose shot from the bed with surprising alacrity. She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face against his chest. "Thanks," she murmured.

His hand found her hair, and he gave it an affectionate stroke. "You're welcome, Rose."

There were many words that both could have spoken, but for now, those few were more than enough.

* * *

_The End_


End file.
